


Dan's Commute

by romantic_chasm



Category: Harry Potter RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Complete, Flirting, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1939722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romantic_chasm/pseuds/romantic_chasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah finds herself in the path of Dan Radcliffe's daily commute. Adorable little flirtations ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dan's Commute

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this little fic years ago, long before I had even *heard* of "fanfiction." Silly little me, I guess I thought I had invented the genre! (haha!) Anyway, there was nothing to do with it until recently, when I discovered this archive. I'm so excited to share it. It still makes me smile after all this time. Please be gentle and remember it's my first go at this! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> P.S. If anyone wants to Brit-pick for me, I have other things I'm working on, (Sherlock!) that need help, too! Ta!

I was in the city on business.  Since I rarely had any time at all to myself those days, I decided to go to the corner cafe down the block from my hotel room at 6 o’clock each morning, to sit in the sun, drink coffee and write.  There are surprisingly few people in that neighborhood at that hour, so it was wonderfully peaceful and quiet.  On my second morning, I was staring, kind of dreamily, across the square when I noticed a man approaching the cafe from across the square.  There were perhaps a dozen people in the square, all heading in their own directions at the time.  Something about him just caught my eye, and when he got a little closer, I realized what it was.  It was Dan Radcliffe.  His coat collar was turned up and his hands were in his pockets.  He seemed deep in thought, maybe a little angry or perturbed about something.  Without even thinking about it, I clucked my tongue twice at him when he was nearly next to my table.  He looked up, and when our eyes met, I grinned and winked at him.  His frown faded and he smiled at me.  I looked back down at my writing, and he kept walking.  
  
It wasn’t for perhaps another minute or so that it fully came to me what had just happened.  Suddenly my heart leapt into my throat.  I felt like screaming, but I just smiled this huge, goofy grin instead.  At that moment, the waiter came up to warm my coffee and asked what I was smiling about.  I laughed out loud and told him I couldn’t explain it.  The rest of the day was a little surreal, but I managed to get through it without totally blanking in the middle of a meeting or, thank goodness, during my presentation.  
  
The next morning, I went back down to the same spot, got my coffee and a bagel, set up my computer and dove in to my writing.  I felt so energized by the previous day’s events that I was completely engrossed in my latest story when I suddenly heard a “click click.”  I looked up, and there was Dan again.  This time, he winked at me.  I must have smiled like an idiot, because he laughed as he walked past me.  It took every ounce of my strength not to turn around and look as he walked away.   
I couldn’t believe it.  Somehow, the Fates had converged to put me in the path of Daniel Radcliffe’s daily commute.  What was even more astounding than that, was I had somehow managed to keep enough control over myself to have made a favorable impression on him.  I was still struggling to remember what I had been writing, or how to type, for that matter, when the waiter arrived.  “Are you okay?” he asked me with an odd sort of grin.  I made a noise in my throat that was supposed to mean, “Yes, I’m perfectly fine,” but probably conveyed something more along the lines of, “I’m a crazed lunatic about to have a meltdown, so back off!” if the haste of his departure was any indication.  
  
I didn’t fair quite so well in meetings that day, but luckily, no one expected me to stand up in front of everyone and say anything intelligent, so I managed to get by.  I think most of my answers to questions were multi-syllabic grunts, so after a couple of hours people started to leave me alone.  After lunch, Marilyn caught me on the way into the next meeting and asked me what was up.  “You act like your feet aren’t touching the ground!  What’s going on with you, anyway?”  But I couldn’t tell her.  I felt like sharing this little interaction, these tiny, private moments, with anyone, would be a violation.  I felt certain that Dan hadn’t told anyone either.  I told myself that no one would ever prove me wrong, so I could believe anything I wanted to.  So I decided I’d believe that those winks had lifted his spirit in a time of sadness, and that he would remember me forever.  Aahhh.  That felt good.  
  
I didn’t dare to hope that he would really be there again the next morning.  I set up my laptop again, but didn’t even try to think of anything to write.  I just watched and waited.  I tried to keep my face down, so it would look like I was deep in thought, and look around with only my eyes.  If he came from another direction though, I’d be made.  He’d be able to see I was looking around.  I didn’t want to spoil it by looking like a dork.  Or worse, like a stalker.  So I was terribly relieved when I saw him across the square, when he was still too far away, I hoped, to be able to tell if I was looking for him.  I tried to time it so that I would look up at the trees across the street at about the moment I estimated he would be closing in on the cafe.  I was too early.  Our eyes met at too far of a distance, and I didn’t know what to do.  In a sudden flash of inspiration, or...was it panic...I said, “Buenos dias, guapo.”  He hesitated, and his step slowed just a bit, “Buenos dias...that’s good morning, isn’t it?”  I nodded.  “Buenos dias to you,” he said and continued on.  I flushed so hard I was certain my head was about to burst into flames.  “Buenos dias, guapo?” I repeated to myself incredulously.  I couldn’t believe my luck that he didn’t ask what guapo meant.  I wasn’t even sure if I had used it correctly, that it would make sense to a Spanish-speaking person.  By this time, I expected the waiter to just be terrified of approaching my table, but he seemed to take it in stride.  “More coffee?” he asked.  “No, I think I’ve had enough.”  I packed my things early and left.  “Oh well,” I told myself that afternoon, in a particularly dull meeting, “it was fun while it lasted.”  At least now I was sure he’d never forget me.  
  
The next morning dawned bright and cold, so I decided to curl my hair.  At least the little bit of it sticking out of my hat would be pretty.  I debated even going, but I still got ready, packed my laptop and headed out the door.  I was so early that the shop wasn’t even open yet.  “Pull yourself together, Sarah.  You’re nuts!”  The waiter’s expression when he arrived a few minutes later seemed to say he agreed with my assessment.  It was hard to tell, but on this fourth morning, Dan seemed to be running late.  Maybe it was because I’d arrived early, or, more likely, I thought, he decided I was a freak and changed his morning route.  I was so busy arguing with myself about this that his arrival took me completely by surprise.  I heard a voice next to me say, “Guten morgen, shoner.”  I startled and when I looked up, he was standing next to me, his arm on the little wrought iron fence that surrounded my cafe.  “Uhhh...guten morgen,” I said.  Or did I stammer it?  Maybe it was a mumble...  He smiled at me, and I managed to smile back.  Then he was gone.  I sat stunned.  Not only did he not change his route, he actually stopped to say good morning to me.  “Wait a minute,” I thought.  “What the hell does shoner mean?”  Is there a German word for freakish-stalking-blushing-clucking-weirdo-American-girl-sitting-alone-in-a-cafe?  My fingers practically flew across the keyboard as I googled the word “shoner.”  “Beautiful.”  
  
Beautiful.  “I could die right now, and my life would be complete” I thought.  “Daniel Radcliffe just called me beautiful.”  “Oh nnnooo,” I said aloud, as a sinking feeling engulfed my innards.  That means he knew what guapo meant.  “What’s wrong?” asked my plucky little waiter, who seemed to have come to terms completely with my strangeness.  “Oh, I just realized that someone besides myself realizes what a dork I am.”  “What, just now?” he asked, smiling kindly at me.  I wanted to kick him and hug him at the same time.  “How can men do that?” I wondered.  I’m pretty sure I spent the rest of my day in a severe blush.  You could have cooked eggs on my face.  
  
The next day would be Friday--my last chance to see him before the weekend, or perhaps, forever.  I almost didn’t sleep at all.  I kept waking up thinking I had overslept, and then spent what seemed like hours admonishing myself for getting so worked up over someone I didn’t even know, had only spoken to twice, for two seconds at a time, and whom I might never see again anyway.  And, for the love of Mike, to go the hell back to sleep, or I’d look like crap the next morning.    
  
I can’t explain how or why it happened, but when I sat down at my usual table that morning, cup-o-joe in hand, a serene calm descended over me that I will thank the heavens for for the rest of my life.  I didn’t even bother to take out my laptop.  I didn’t pretend not to look for him.  I just sat back, holding my warm cup in both hands, and waited.  This time, I actually had the presence of mind to look at my watch when he appeared, so I’d have an idea when to expect him the next time, if there was a next time.  I watched him traverse the entire square, and I knew he had seen me looking at him.  I didn’t care.  God, he was so beautiful.  He smiled at me from across the street.  My eyes never left him.  “Dobreu ootrra, krasevee,” I smiled, hoping he didn’t know enough Russian to know how bad my accent was.  “Bonjour belle,” he said with a little gesture of his hand as he passed.  “I’m so happy!” I told the waiter when he came by.  “I’m glad,” he said, and didn’t seem even a little bit afraid of me this time.  
  
I was happy, because I was a woman with a plan.  I would return tomorrow, Saturday, to wait and see if Daniel Radcliffe wanted to sit down, and talk to me.  You’d think I’d be terrified of the prospect, based on how I’d been reacting all week to a few seconds of exposure to him each day.  But I think a kind of fatalism had taken over.  He’d like me or he wouldn’t.  But this was my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to have a real conversation with him, and I was bound and determined not to squander it by acting like a lunatic.  I slept like a baby on Friday night.  
  
The next morning, the streets were nearly deserted when I saw him emerge from between parked cars on the other side of the square.  Surprisingly, I had the very same waiter this morning, and had asked him to bring me a cup of tea when I signaled him.  I said it was important, and that I’d give him a big tip if he timed it just right.  I didn’t want Dan’s tea to get cold.  So just as Dan reached the wrought iron, my sweet, perfect, and significantly wealthier waiter placed a steaming cup of tea on the table next to my coffee.  “Cup of tea?” I asked him, gesturing to the other seat at my table.  I was pleased to see the expression on his face.  Surprise blended with amusement blended with...what was it...relief?  
  
He sat down and clasped his hands nervously between his knees.  Nervously?  “Are you kidding me?” I thought.  “How the hell can Dan Radcliffe be nervous talking to me???”  There was a long pause before he asked me, “So what are you working on?”  He looked like he wanted to kick himself.  I was beside myself with joy.  “If he’s nervous talking to me, that takes so much pressure off of me!  He’s just as worried about sounding like an idiot as I am!”  I smiled a little too broadly and said, “I’m a writer.  I’m in town on business, working out things with my publisher.”  “Really?” he asked.  “That’s smashing.  So what do you write?”  “All kinds of things, but the thing I’m here for this time is a novel about a man who starts having trouble with a doppelganger.  There are some twists and surprises, and a lot of tragedy, but in the end there is hope.   My editor and the publishers seem really excited about it.”  “That’s wonderful,” he smiled.  He didn’t seem to know what to say next, so I jumped in with, “I just hope I’m making the right decisions.  I’ve never done this before, and I don’t know if I’m making good deals or lousy ones.”  “Oh, so this is your first time getting published, then?”  “Yes.  And I’m pretty nervous about it, to tell you the truth.  You don’t know how much these past mornings have meant to me.”  He looked as though he was going to disagree with me, but then thought better of it.  An idea suddenly popped into my head, and I leaned forward towards him, my elbows on the table and asked, “So.  What do you do?”    
  
I can’t describe to you how much I enjoyed my academy award-winning performance as someone who had absolutely no idea whatsoever that she was speaking to a global super-star.  I could practically read his mind from the array of expressions that crossed his face in the following moments.  He thought I must be joking, then he thought I was dead serious, then he thought of asking if I really didn’t know who he was, then thought he’d sound terribly arrogant if he did ask me that and then he was starting to feel embarrassed that it was taking him so long to answer what should have been a very simple question when I finally took pity on him and smiled.  I also cleverly took the opportunity to touch his arm when I said, “Just kidding!”  He threw back his head and laughed.  It was perfect.  The tension was broken and we had a good laugh for a minute.  I put out my hand, “Sarah,” I said.  “I’m Dan,” he paused.  “Obviously,” he added.  “Obviously,” I agreed.  At this, he blushed.  I thought to myself; heaven--pure heaven.  A bashful super-star.  It doesn’t get much better than this.  
  
We sat there in the cafe for hours, each taking turns at getting nervous and blushing, and then laughing at ourselves.  At least the waiter finally understood me.  I could have happily sat there all day and all night, getting to know Dan, but my stomach started to rumble so loudly that neither of us could ignore it any longer.  I was so honestly stunned when I looked at my watch that I knew he could see it in my face.  “I have to go,” I said, trying hard to hide the pain this statement caused me.  He saw it.  “Listen,” he said, suddenly turning more serious than I had seen him since that first day, “I’d like to say that this week has meant a lot to me, as well.  I’d had a bad turn at the weekend, and you really helped me to get through it.  Its been wonderful, actually.”  I was deeply curious about this bad turn, but didn’t feel like it was something I should ask about.  “I guess that’s what friends are for,” I said.  
  
I couldn’t put if off any longer.  I asked, “Will you be here next week?”  I knew his answer before he spoke, and I looked at my lap while he said, “No, I’m leaving for London tomorrow.”  I plastered on the best smile I could manage, and said in what I hoped was a casual tone, “Oh that’s too bad.”  ‘Will you be heading back to the states any time soon’ was on the tip of my tongue, but I stopped myself just in time.  There was a long pause.  He looked at me with a strange kind of concentration, and then appeared to come to a decision.  He took out his phone.  I was hoping he was calling to cancel his flight, but instead he said, “What’s your mobile number?  I’ll ring you and then you’ll have mine as well.”  There was an even longer pause as I tried frantically to gather my wits about me.  The thought suddenly occurred to me that I might not be able to remember my own phone number and my life would be ruined.  “Uh, I uh...” I said as I looked through my bag for my phone.  “Well, just tell me your number and I’ll ring you,” he repeated.  I knew I’d been made.  There was no covering for being this flustered, so I decided to just take responsibility for my own dork-hood and said, “Sorry.  You really caught me off guard with that one.”  That’s it, I thought, smoke is coming out of my hair right now.  If I blush any harder, I’ll combust.  Miraculously, my hand found my phone.  Somehow, a solid object in my hand seem to ground me a little and I stammered out my phone number.  He dialed.  My phone rang in my hand.  I opened it, smiled into his eyes, and said, “Who is it?”  
  
  
  
  



End file.
